


Pegging the Question

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: SGA - Fandom
Genre: Genderfuck, Other, Pegging, Sexual Fantasy, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teyla has a little accident with Ancient technology. John is not obsessed. McKay, for once, is not being sarcastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pegging the Question

When John said "Here, hold this—" and passed what looked like an Ancient sex toy to Teyla, he wasn't actually thinking about sex. He was more thinking of getting Rodney out from under the great big shelf that just collapsed, because yeah, even on missions inside their own city, his team got into the most trouble.

So when Teyla took the toy and said, "Oh," John just assumed she was reacting to Rodney's sudden signs of consciousness ("Oh, dear god, the carpet in here stinks, how could this section have flooded, it's in a tower—?") or possible the toy itself, which had suggestively positioned prongs and nodules and a couple of translucent bits that did not bear thinking on.

So they got the shelf up, and Rodney's monologue shifted from the carpet to his allergies to the state of his back, about which John had heard enough to monologue himself. There wasn't any bleeding, but since he'd lost consciousness for a few seconds John let Rodney go to the infirmary anyway, and even let him claim Ronon for support "in case I'm overcome by vertigo and fall over and hit my head again, because really, Colonel, there is no telling what all these repeated concussions are doing to me. That shelf may have taken out the brain cells responsible for a Unified Field Theory one day. Assuming we can ever figure out all the fields that Ancients identified in order to unify them. It's a tremendous loss for science."

John didn't actually think about the sex toy until they got to the infirmary, Rodney was declared sound ("Are you sure? I think my extremities might be a little numb, can you check again?") and Teyla suddenly said, "Jennifer? May I have a word with you?" That was when John noticed that she was still carrying the damn sex toy. And she was walking kinda funny.

Keller blinked up from the tablet with Rodney's chart on it. "Sure, Teyla. In my office?"

"Something wrong, Teyla?" John asked.

She had smiled tightly at him, and—blushed? What the fuck? "I am certain it is nothing serious, Colonel."

"No no no," Rodney said, "don't say that, when you people say that you end up turning into bugs or something. And what the hell are you carrying?"

"I'm sure we'll just be a minute," Keller said brightly, and herded Teyla into the back of the infirmary. "Dr. McKay, you can leave any time."

"No, really," Rodney asked as the women disappeared. "What was she carrying? Why isn't it wrapped in plain brown paper? And who turned it on?"

"It was on?" Ronon asked.

"Uh, yeah, did you not notice the blinky lights of on-ness? They're usually a dead giveaway."

John had a sudden sense of imminent doom, but that was perfectly normal for Atlantis, so he let it pass.

-\\-\\-\\-\\-

The next time John saw Teyla, she was in Rodney's lab—with Keller again—and Rodney's face was this really bizarre shade of green. His eyebrows were drawn together over bulging eyes and his mouth slanted half-open as Keller explained something in a low voice. John caught the words "database" and "explanation" and "not anywhere near my field."

"And you think this is _my_ area of expertise?" Rodney said—squeaked, kinda. "How? How, exactly, am I supposed to—look, Meredith is historically a man's name, you shouldn't just assume—what am I saying, you have my health history—"

"Rodney," Teyla said firmly. She was standing with her feet braced wide apart and a slightly chagrinned expression. "I think Jennifer means that she is able to explain what has happened, but lacks the expertise to determine how."

John cleared his throat. "And, ah, what is that? That has happened here?"

Rodney's face turned white and he shouted "Nothing! Nothing at all!" And he tried to hide something wrapped in plain brown paper under his laptop.

Keller straightened and folded her arms. "Colonel, I was just—um—that is, there seems to have been—how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know there's something wrong with Teyla and you're asking McKay for advice about it," John said.

"It is not a serious matter, John," Teyla said firmly.

"I'm just a little out of my depth as far as the, uh, etiology goes," Keller said.

Rodney thrust his chin in the air. "Besides, haven't you ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality, Colonel?"

"I just want to be informed if there's anything wrong with a member of my team," John said, leaning against the door frame. "That's not about privacy, that's about safety, considering we're going off-world tomorrow."

Keller spread her hands and shrugged. "We're not intentionally keeping you out of the loop, Colonel, just—just trying to make an accurate diagnosis."

"And I can't imagine how it could be a problem in the field," Rodney said, "if anything—oh god, oh god, I cannot have that mental image."

"McKay!" Keller said, looking scandalized. "Doctor-patient confidentiality!"

"I'm not that kind doctor," Rodney said. "I do _real_ science. Which apparently means I get to work on...this. Oh god." He sat down, very hard.

John sighed. "Teyla. You're the patient. Do you have a health situation I need to know about?"

Teyla's eyes snapped up from where they have been fixed, somewhere around John's waist-level, and she...blushed again? What the hell? And was suddenly sidling behind Rodney's lab bench. "It will not be a problem, Colonel," she said. "Our mission may proceed."

John looked at Keller, who shrugged, and at Rodney, who tried to be fascinated by things on his lab bench that weren't wrapped in plain brown paper, or covering something wrapped in plain brown paper. "All right," John declared. "I'll take your word for it."

As John left, Rodney seemed to suddenly notice how close to the bench Teyla was standing. His yelp of "Oh my god, you're—you are, aren't you?" and Keller's overlapping cry of "Dr. McKay!" echoed down the corridor, but John manfully did not turn around to investigate. It was important to show trust in his team. Also, Rodney would blurt the whole thing out without twenty-four hours anyway.

-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-

The mission went okay, and his whole team even acted normally—well, normal for them. Rodney wasn't particularly twitchy around Teyla, and Teyla wasn't abnormally blushy, and Ronon growled at appropriate intervals. John was so proud of himself for successfully negotiating permission to explore some Ancient ruins that he almost didn't notice the one thing that wasn't normal, and even then, it was only on their way back to the gate.

"Teyla," he said, "are those Ronon's pants?"

Everyone stopped and looked at Teyla's pants. They were leather, which wasn't abnormal for Teyla's wardrobe, but they were tightly belted higher than her natural waist, and the hems were rolled into thick cuffs that still covered her feet. Also, they laced up over her ass, which was something that John was never, ever going ask Ronon about. Ever.

"Yes," Teyla said calmly. "I am wearing Ronon's pants."

McKay's face turned very red, and he started hiking vigorously forward. "Oh hey, I just remembered, it's Mystery Protein day in the cafeteria, I always like Mystery Protein. With Mystery Protein you can cling to your illusions, you know? Because I'm sure the kitchen staff is trying valiantly within the bounds of culinary possibilities, but I don't like to recognize what I'm eating as something that once tried to eat me."

"Why are you wearing Ronon's pants?" John asked Teyla.

"They are comfortable," Teyla said, and started following Rodney and his paean to Mystery Protein.

John turned to Ronon. "Why is she wearing your pants?"

Ronon shrugged. "She wanted to."

"And you didn't ask why?"

"I thought your people had a rule about asking and telling."

"Who the hell told you that?"

"McKay."

John rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Right. Of course. I'm going to pretend this whole conversation made sense."

"C'mon," Ronon said. "Before McKay gets all the protein."

-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-

When Teyla tried to cancel their irregularly scheduled sparring, John was fed up, and cornered her in her quarters. "Okay, seriously, do you have a problem or not?"

Teyla stood stone-faced and folded her arms; she was wearing her sparring skirt, which made him wonder if he was being cast aside for a better student, but she was still standing with her feet way too far apart. "If I had a problem, Colonel, I would inform you of it."

"Then why are you canceling on me?"

"I am not feeling well."

"You're too sick to work out but still fine to go offworld?"

"I have Dr. Keller's permission, Colonel."

John rubbed his face, and not just because of the cold oh-no-you-didn't edge in Teyla's voice, or the fucking weird blush on her cheeks. "Look," he said, "this isn't about work. This is about how you're my friend and I want to know if you're okay."

"I am fine," she said mulishly.

"I don't believe that."

"You have never mistrusted me before!"

"You're the one who's keeping secrets!" John said. "You told Rodney and Ronon what's up with you but you won't tell me."

"I have told Ronon nothing," she said testily, "and Rodney is only involved because Jennifer believes the device—"

John waited for her to finish the sentence and then pounced when she didn't. "This is about the sex toy, isn't it? The one I touched when it fell on Rodney. Did it do something to you? Make you sick or something?"

"I am not ill, John."

"Then what _is_ it?"

Teyla gave a little growl of frustration, and lifted up the front panel of her skirt. "_This_ is the problem."

John blinked. "Oh."

-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-

"So why didn't you tell me Teyla grew a cock?" John asked Rodney, and was delighted to see Rodney not just drop the Ancient sex toy, but toss it in the air and perform an elaborate fumble-catch that ended with it clutched against his chest like a teddy bear, then immediately thrust away at arm's length.

"Who told you Teyla has a cock?" Rodney demanded, looking cornered.

"Teyla."

"Oh. Well then." Rodney settled the sex toy on his bench again and went back to prodding one of the oddly-curved phalanges with a tiny screwdriver. "In case you forgot, the vindictive harpy now ruling the infirmary forbade me to discuss it with anyone except on a need-to-know basis."

"And who decided I didn't need to know?"

"Teyla," Rodney said. He selected a different tiny screwdriver, which wasn't actually a screwdriver, because it made one of the phalanges glow faintly. Rodney looked at some numbers on one laptop and typed them into another.

John crouched to be eye-level with the toy. They'd already found machines on Atlantis that turned people in Ascended beings, children, animals and for some reason, potted plants (Lorne hadn't been able to look any botanist in the eye for days after that one) but a penis machine was new. And slightly disturbing. "Why would the Ancient build a penis machine?" John asked.

Rodney said, "Don't even think about touching it again," which made John drop his hand, and then continued, "I actually suspect it's intended to induce hermaphroditism. Maybe they were having trouble with birth rates and wanted more genetic flexibility?"

"Maybe they were kinky sons of bitches," John suggested.

"Either way, you're lucky you didn't end up with a vagina." Rodney made another prong of the toy glow, entered some numbers. "Although—right, okay, another mental place I am not going to visit."

"It's not that I have a problem with Teyla's cock," John said, because Rodney's mental places were way too scary sometimes. "Just that...why didn't she say anything sooner?"

"Well," Rodney said, "probably in the beginning, she was more concerned with my being trapped and wounded in the far reaches of the city to mention, 'Hey, Colonel, I think there's something funny going on, the uh-oh kind of funny, in my pants.' And later, well, it's just awkward, isn't it? How do you casually bring that topic up in conversation?"

"Or maybe she was hoping Keller would just lop it off," John suggested.

Both he and Rodney shared a moment of horror at the thought.

"Either way," John said, "She should've told me sooner. I'd be okay with it. I am okay with it."

"Yes, yes, you're very enlightened," Rodney muttered.

"No, really," John said. "It's totally not a problem. I mean, you and Ronon are fine with it, right? So am I."

"I don't think she told Ronon specifically, actually," Rodney said, making yet another phalange glow. "And we already established you're fine with it."

"Because I am," John said. "Peachy. And hey, did you try to explain Don't Ask Don't Tell to Ronon?"

"Yes. And methinks the colonel doth protest too much."

"I thought you hated the humanities. I am totally not having a problem with Teyla's magic penis. He wasn't propositioning Marines, was he?"

Even Rodney needed a second to process that utterance. "One, I have a fine appreciation for the humanities and their miniscule value to the species. Two, nobody said you did have a problem with Teyla's...addition, and please don't call it a 'magic penis' because again, _I cannot have that in my head._ Three, no, Ronon was not hitting on your jarheads, their virtue is safe for now."

"Nobody better say I have a problem with it because I don't have a problem with it," John said. "Teyla, I mean. Not the humanities or the Marines."

Rodney sighed. "I know you don't have a problem with it."

"Good."

"Good."

"'Cause I don't."

"You have a _fixation_ on it, apparently."

John scowled at him. "No."

"I'm not saying that in a bad way," Rodney carried on, poking the sex toy so it lit up like a Simon game. "I mean, you're the last person I'd pick to have a thing for pegging, but a certain amount of tolerance and liberal-mindedness is part of the Canadian national character, so, you know, whatever. Also, I mean, she is _hot._ In that slightly scary Xena way that she has. So, ah, if you can't keep it in your pants, why not keep it in the team? Figuratively speaking, of course."

John buried his face in his hands. "Rodney. Stop talking."

"What?" Rodney said. "I'm just saying that I'm not going to judge you on your kinky, perverted obsession with Teyla's newly-modified private parts."

_"Rodney."_

"Colonel, you're going to have to deal with this for a while, you know, because this isn't exactly a rush job for me, and Keller's apparently too chicken to do any voodoo for the time being. I suspect she thinks it might, I don't know, _grow back._ So you're going to have to get used to Teyla and her penis and your twisted sexual fantasies as they relate thereto."

John pounded his head on the table. "McKay. There are rules about that sort of thing."

"Actually, Don't Ask Don't Tell is unsurprisingly silent on this specific area."

"I mean about fraternization. Since she's on my team.

Rodney snorted. "Like that's actually a problem here. You know SG-1's been screwing in various permutations since almost day one."

John's head snapped up. "You're kidding."

"Mmm." Rodney prodded the sex toy, and it started blinking all over, very rapidly, and then suddenly went dead. "Hmm. Yeah, well, I frankly can't blame anyone for wanting to get in Carter's pants, and I suppose the rest is sort of a domino effect. They save the planet a lot. Nobody cares."

A very long list of very dirty things flashed through John's head with dizzying speed, and he squeezed his eyes closed in order to shut it out. "Still not going to have sex with Teyla," he announced. "Because there are rules. And I have principles. And also I'm _not obsessed."_

Rodney huffed and slammed down his various screwdrivers. "Fine. Enjoy your principles. I'm off to have acrobatic sex with Ronon in the number five desalination tank."

"Right, McKay. Thanks"

John was left alone in the lab with a non-blinky Ancient hermaphrodite machine/sex toy. He brooded, manfully.

-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-

They went on two more missions, and nothing bad happened, and John wasn't even distracted by Teyla and her new, roomier BDU pants. (He was mildly curious if she dressed to the right or left, and how she'd decided, because, well, he was just curious. And not at all pervily obsessed.) Teyla didn't volunteer to discuss any sort of magic-penis-related issues she might be having, Rodney worked on the sex toy in his spare time, and Ronon grunted at appropriate intervals. Everything was fine. Peachy keen, in fact.

And John wasn't obsessed. Really.

-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-

Except one day Teyla wore her sparring skirt to lunch. "Practicing later?" John asked.

"Perhaps," she said. "In the meantime, it is...more comfortable."

"...Oh. Yeah. Uh. Comfortable. I—I get that. I mean not really, but uh, I can—imagine—uh…oh."

"Colonel? Are you feeling well?"

John excused himself went straight to Rodney's lab. "So maybe I am a little obsessed."

Rodney snorted and teased a wire out of the sex toy. "Well, thank you for sharing."

But because John had a personal agreement with himself not to imagine his coworkers fucking him into the wall while wearing leather skirts—among other things, it wasn't really that specific—okay, because he had a rule that he wasn't going to fantasize about_ any_ conjunction of Teyla and penises and leather skirts—or any skirts, or not even a penis, really, someone had once traded them some kind of a space dildo for Rodney's powerbars—because John wasn't going to fantasize about _Teyla_—well—

Fuck it.

"I'll be in my quarters," he told Rodney.

"Colonel! Bad place!"

-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-

The obvious solution was to avoid Teyla, and also work out _really hard,_ because at age forty John had reached a point where sheer physical exhaustion could trump hormones nine times out of ten. This strategy worked until he fell down a staircase and hyperextended his knee, which got nothing him nothing but scolding from Keller and Rodney loitering at his bedside mumbling "Sub-lim-a-tion!" in a singsong voice.

Normally John would discuss this sort of thing with Teyla, who was good at finishing his sentences and provided straightforward advice. He would commit seppuku before he tried to talk out the problem with Rodney. Keller was almost young enough to be his daughter, and besides, she had enough issues straining doctor-patient confidentiality these days that she didn't need the military commander of the base dumping his psychosexual angst in her lap. Heightmeyer was right out.

"Go for it," Ronon suggested.

"I can't," John said.

"Your military is stupid."

They threw knives some more.

"On Sateda we believed that sex in the ranks improved moral."

"On Earth we believe that fraternization clouds your judgement."

"Your judgement's already cloudy."

"Gee, thanks."

Ronon yanked all the knives out o the target (a picture of some kind of moose over a double layer of dense wood—John doesn't ask about it) and brought them back to the starting line. "I mean you already care too much," Ronon said. "About everybody. So you might as well get something out of it besides manly angst."

John narrowed his eyes. "You've been spending an awful lot of time around McKay."

"So?"

He flipped a knife at the target and almost hit it. "You're suggesting I just walk up to Teyla and say, 'Hey, I want into your new and improved pants, let's do it'?"

Ronon shrugged. "Works for me."

"Of course it does." It'd work for anyone with the confidence to wear pants that lace in the back. John, on the other hand, would likely get punched. Or at least beaten down with a bantos rod.

And wow, when that mental image spawned _other_ mental images, he knew he was too far gone.

"I'll think about it," he tells Ronon, before hobbling away to be with his manly-but-not-angstful internal conflict.

"You're gonna do it," Ronon said, and started sliding knives back into his hair.

-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-

And John did it. Only not how he expected to.

Because when Keller let him out of the brace he was right back in the gym, gingerly stretching the knee. It hadn't even been a bad sprain, but the entire medical staff has by now learned to defensively overreact to John (just like they reflexively ignore Rodney as long as he's breathing and not bleeding too much) and now his entire left leg felt stiff and gimpy.

So he was kinda doubled over and grabbing his own ankles when Teyla walked into the room, in the damn leather skirt, and froze at the threshold of the door. "Hi," John said, from between his own knees.

"Hello," Teyla said, and she was looking kinda pink again.

John straightened up, because he was practically _presenting his ass_ to her, and that wasn't going to help his manly-but-not-angstful internal conflict thing. Nor did think it was what Ronon would do, laces or no laces. Instead John asked, "How's...things?" and went into a couple of deep knee-bends, facing her.

Teyla cleared her throat and said, "I am well, considering," and just trailed off after that. She turned away from John and started doing her own stretches, a sort of space yoga that made the panels of the skirt shift enticingly around her legs. Teyla had great legs, proportionate to her height, solid. She had a great ass, too, full and firm, and if she'd just turn around John would be able to see her great breasts, and more importantly, the front panel of the skirt might slide around enough for him to get a second, more thorough look at—

No. Stop it. He doesn't _want_ a more thorough examination of Teyla's cock. He doesn't need it, because all he needs to know is that it's there, and it's going to go away, and then he can stop being weirdly obsessed with it. (It was proportional to her height, too, at least when flaccid, and apparently had come with a complementary set of testicles to match.)

"That's good," John says, only it's a little too late and he's not at all sure what he's commenting on.

He goes into a lunge instead, feeling the knee pull but not exactly hurt. Teyla arched her back and John concentrated on his shoelaces. "Rodney tells me has made progress on the device," Teyla blurted.

"Good," John said fervently, "that's good."

"Jennifer is planning to perform some tests. I believe they will involve mice."

"Great," John said, though what exactly was so great about having a bunch of hermaphrodite mice running around the city, he couldn't fathom. He just had to say _something._

"Yes," Teyla said weakly, and slowly sank into the splits. John had seen her do it a hundred times before now. He had never seen the funny little twist of a frown on her face at the point of full extension, and then suddenly he realized _why_ he'd never seen it before, and why it was there, and dammit, this had been a bad idea from the very beginning. He should've excused himself when she walked in. He should just hide under his bed until Keller could get rid of the magic penis, or better yet, in his office, _nobody_ would look for him in there, and in the meantime, he should just finish his stretching as quickly and gracefully and not-facing-Teyla-ly as possible—

Or not. He could lose his balance and sit on his bad knee, too. 'Cause that—definitely hurt.

"Are you all right?" Teyla asked quickly, and before John could get his legs fully untangled she was touching his shoulder (and he hadn't even been shaving the last time _touching! of the shoulder!_ had been this nerve-jangling).

And John said, "Yeah, just came down hard," and they both flinched, because wow, double-entendres _sucked_, they _blew, _ they—were bad things, and they were also _everywhere._ (Except why was Teyla flinching?)

"Do you need help standing?

"No, I think I'm good—"

And she believed him, so when his knee started to buckle she wasn't in a position to prop him up, and somehow his hand connected with her lap and—

Oh. Oh my.

John had apparently stepped into a bad porno film.

"I am sorry," Teyla blurted, and tried to crawl away crab-wise, which did nothing but emphasize how the panels of her skirt were falling around her—and tented by the—and John's brain couldn't even _think_ the phrase, because it was too busy short-circuiting.

"Don't," he managed to blurt out, "don't—I understand, I do. Really. You have no idea."

She regarded him uneasily. "You are not—not discomfited?"

John swallowed. "Actually, I was kind of thinking we could—uh—give each other a hand."

They regarded each other for a moment.

"That was a very poor pun, John."

"I know," he said. "'S what I get for asking Ronon for relationship advice."

"I see."

"So how about," John said slowly, "we stop talking. If, um, if you're okay with that."

Teyla nodded, and crept closer, eyes locked with his. "I think that is a very good idea."

-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-\\-

And they didn't talk again for a while, not until they realized that John wasn't getting back to the infirmary under his own power. Sex injuries were always more intriguing in theory than in practice.

Keller was on call, and she raised her eyebrows at them almost to her hairline, but didn't say anything except, "Bed three." Teyla helped John hobble over to bed three, and even brought him a chemical cold pack for the knee.

"Well," John said, because he was more accustomed to post-coital awkwardness in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, parking lot, or, once, memorably, a cargo hold. The infirmary was new.

Teyla cleared her throat. "I…that was…interesting."

"Yes. Yes, it was."

"I did not…you are not hurt?"

John forced a smile. "Just the knee."

"That is good." Teyla fiddled with the edge of her skirt for a moment. "If your knee is not too badly injured, perhaps…perhaps we could…repeat the lesson?"

"Oh yeah," John said. "I, uh, I think this calls for all the practice we can get."

They grinned at each other like idiots for a moment. It was probably the least smooth conversation about sex in the history of the expedition that didn't involve McKay. John didn't care.

But speaking of McKay—just as Keller came out of her office with a tablet, Rodney barged in, bent double and groaning loudly. The only thing actually holding him up was Ronon, who appeared to have misplaced his shirt somewhere. Keller squeezed her eyes shut and pointed. "Bed four."

"I'm dying," Rodney wailed. "I've ruptured something."

"Bed four."

"This is all your fault, she-devil!"

"Bed four, Dr. McKay!"

Rodney face-planted on bed four and moaned again. Ronon pulled a privacy curtain. "What the hell happened to you?" John asked.

"What does it look like?" Rodney snarled. "My back has gone out. Clearly I've aggravated injuries sustained in the sex-toy room that the quack missed on the first examination. Ronon, if I die, it is your sacred duty to sue her for malpractice, or my restless soul will haunt these halls, crying out for vengeance, for all time."

"You don't believe in the soul, McKay," John pointed out.

"I could if it means I get extra chances to punish stupid people."

Teyla frowned. "Rodney, are you wearing Ronon's pants?"

John quickly looked at Rodney's pants, which were indeed rather more leathery than was usual, and then at Ronon, who just said, "Yeah. We were in a hurry."

"In a hurry from where?" John asked slowly.

Rodney and Ronon looked at one another. Teyla frowned at them both. "You mean you have not told—"

"I told him!" Rodney said indignantly. "I told him days ago! It's not my fault he was too busy wallowing in his manly angst to pay attention!"

"I thought there was a law," Ronon said.

"Not one that applies to us, idiot." Rodney burrowed his face into the pillow and whimpered a bit.

John opened his mouth to say that he didn't wallow in anything, much less the manly angst he didn't have, and anyway Rodney didn't tell him anything—wait a minute. "Wait a minute," he said. "You—they—in the _desalination tanks?" _

"It's easy on the back," Rodney mumbled. "Which is clearly of critical importance here. I think my toes a numb."

"McKay, we drink that water!"

"It gets filtered!"

"So he did tell you," Ronon said.

John scrubbed at his hair. "I thought he was being sarcastic," he mumbled. "I think I'm going to go blind."

"Oh, what," Rodney growled, "like you're the only one who gets to have kinky sex with a younger coworker from another planet? And don't deny it, your pants are on backwards."

John immediately looked down, then glared at Rodney. "They are not."

"No, but the fact that you _checked_ is sufficiently incriminating. Congratulations. No more manly angst."

"John," Teyla said firmly in her talking-to-little-boys voice, "I believe the expression among you people is to 'let bygones be bygones.'"

"Also," Rodney added, "pot and kettle."

"Fine," John sighed. "Just…I don't want to know about it, okay? I like my illusions."

"Like Mystery Protein," Rodney said. "Only this is Mystery Sex."

"Right."

Ronon asked, "What's a bygone?"

Keller came around the curtain, then pulled it all the way shut. "All right. Colonel first, then Dr. McKay, though there's a three-page note in your file that says you should just apply heat and stay off your feet for twenty-four hours, which I'm inclined to go alone with. And I just want to say, for the record, that I don't want to know how any of this happened.

Rodney raised his head as far as he was able. "Don't you have to ask--?"

_"No," _ Keller said with a funny little smile. "I refuse to ask. I forbid you to tell me. Either of you. I don't have to know the details to treat the symptoms and there is not enough alcohol in the city for that conversation."

Ronon frowned at Rodney. "I knew there was a law."


End file.
